Stranger Things Have HappenedHaven't They?
by soBeautifullyObsessed
Summary: Doctor Strange (2016 motion picture). Cloak has been waiting countless ages for the One who will complete her-thus allowing them both to fulfill their destinies. Just a simple bit of crack fic, started on a whim, hopefully as amusing to read as it's proving to write. Once I saw the clips of Cloak's collar sort of...caressing Strange's face...well, I just couldn't resist!
1. Chapter 1

Cloak had lived through countless eons, and had patiently endured the touch of innumerable suitors, her purpose—beyond the necessary work of protecting infinite realities from chaos and violence–always to find the One. The One she had been made for, the One who would finally couple with her, allowing her to fulfill her truest destiny. And she had always known that this long awaited One would need _her_ just as desperately, to fulfill his own destiny; and when they came together at last, their pairing would bring salvation to many a world across the cosmos. At times she had grown cynical that her wait would be rewarded, and though she found temporary comfort in the sorcerers that made their way to her, that satisfaction was always incomplete and too short lived. Every fiber of her being yearned for the day when he—the One–would come, and tap into all the power she offered and finally, oh finally, end her lonely solitude and touch the part of her that ached to serve as much as be served in turn.

Through long periods of inactivity, she had waited, locked away in her glass cabinet, longing for the day promised her of old, wondering what form the One would ultimately take, certain she would recognize him (or her), from the moment he stood before her. In the rare dream, she would catch a fleeting hint, a delicious tease, a thrill of precognition—he _is_ coming rest assured, the yang to your yin, the reason you came to be, the resolution of your true purpose, the answer to your loneliness. From such visions she knew he (or she; Cloak fully knew the sex mattered not) he was once a proud, haughty man, brilliant but cold to the needs of mankind; a man who had been broken through his own hubris and careless belief of invincibility, broken badly and reduced to a shell of himself. His soul will have been sorely tested, Cloak reminded herself again and again when the wait seemed interminable, but that was a necessity that would open his mind and heart to the infinite possibilities which they would explore together. She knew he would bear marks of this breaking, painful reminder of his foolishness, symbol of how much he could overcome should he have the courage. He would be the bravest of them all, when the world was at stake, surpassing any expectation he had ever had for himself. Cloak would be his helpmate and his mistress, and they would come to be inseparable.

And so Cloak yearned ceaselessly, and as she waited silently from behind her glass, she was certain when he finally stood before her, that they would recognize one another, just as lovers prematurely and long separated always do, when they come again into their own.

But Cloak could not have known, or even guessed, that these fancies were not entirely accurate…

 _(to be continued)_


	2. Chapter 2

Although Cloak did not reckon the passage of time as mortals did, she knew she had been waiting in her glass case for two full human generations, simply by observing the men and women that passed through the New York Sanctum. She had watched a long succession of sorcerers-in-training mature into Masters; had watched them age from green youth to the confidence and full strength of their middle years; likewise, she had borne witness as many a hale and hearty Master-like her last magician—gradually declined into the inevitable frailty of old age. Illness was an easy foe for sorcerers to defeat when magic was their medicine; and injury, even sustained in battle, was not too great a challenge for their charms and spells to overcome. But age, the natural enemy to all mankind, was insurmountable to even the wisest, most skilled, and highly accomplished of their kind (except in the curious case of The Ancient One). Woefully aware that his powers and effectiveness were fast diminishing, Alastair of Alahambra had finally surrendered Cloak with the dignity befitting their years of service together, leaving her proud for all they had accomplished, and silently mourning his departure .

She had subsisted in her glass cabinet since then, marking the relentless turn of time, periodically growing despondent when a new face or two would come along to stop and study her, only to move along towards the next relic. She knew, of course, that these earnest strangers were not for her—Cloak felt no ripple of recognition as they gazed at her, no true yearning to join with them—yet still she felt disappointment. Four decades it had been, since she had been of use, and even for an ageless being as herself, forty years or so was a long and lonely time to wait.

Sometimes—to distract herself from the interminable boredom—Cloak would reflect upon her many experiences and adventures across time, space and the vast span of multiverses. She had known exhilarating victories, as well as devastating losses, in the company of her sorcerers, and though imbued with many layers of magic down to the very atoms of which she was comprised, she had known great dangers-and even fear on behalf of her mystic partners.

Cloak was not a true mind reader, but across the centuries she had grown an empathy that allowed her to discern the emotions, the hopes and the intentions of those who wore her, even allowing her to anticipate their needs enough to swiftly act when they needed protection, and communicate advice when her wearers seemed lost, indecisive—or on the verge of making a grave mistake. Those who heeded her promptings met with greater success than those who disregarded them…and in some sad cases, their refusals cost them dearly, even unto death. Those were hard lessons for Cloak, but they taught her well, so that any sorcerer consistently ignoring her promptings meant for their best safety, found themselves without the benefit of her partnership. She would not allow herself to be soaked in the blood of the foolishly headstrong ever again, pulling away from them instead, before disaster struck.

Several hundred years had passed since Cloak had served her most skilled and naturally talented wearer, though no living mortal remained who knew of that service–but for the sorcerer herself, known on Earth, and far and wide across the cosmos, as The Ancient One **…**


End file.
